


"Only Time Will Tell"

by hayj



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayj/pseuds/hayj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone shouts when they think his heart has stopped, when in fact it's finally started, calling for Charlie who wades through the swarm of soldiers dropping to her knees next to him. All he can do is look at her and then guide her with his eyes towards the sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Only Time Will Tell"

"Where's my niece?" Miles Matheson demands grabbing a medic by the collar.

"They're still working on her, General."

"Working on her? What happened?" he barks scanning the room for Charlie's familiar tawny tresses.

"It looks like she zigged when she should have zagged, Sir. They had to sedate her. Five rows down and two over," the medic explains pointing in the general direction.

Letting go of the man, Miles heads towards the bed being attended to by a medic.

"What happened?" he asks again making his way to the top of the cot, peering down at Charlie's bare torso.

"Don't know all the details, General," an assistant holding a saline bag answers. "We were told she jumped between a Patriot blade and one of her men. It's not life threatening but with the amount of stitches needed, we decided to sedate her."

Miles hand travels over his face, wiping hard at his mouth as he looks down at her.

The cut runs from the underside of her jaw, across her throat, over the top of her breast, continuing on to her arm. She was going to have a hell of a scar when it was over.

"Have someone send for me when she wakes."

* * *

Storming into the command tent, Miles kicks at a chair trying to relieve some of his pent-up frustration.

"How is she?" Blanchard asks from where he stands at the table in the middle of the room.

"She took a pretty good slice trying to protect one of her men. They've got her sedated while they stitch her up."

Blanchard simply nods before turning his attention back to the table, pushing objects around.

"Wait, what's that?" Miles questions pointing at a few key locations.

"This is the intel that just came in. You and Matheson, Jr. managed to wipe out the patriots you went up against. Hell, we outnumbered them two to one, but that's just damn stupid."

Miles leans against the table contemplating the one group still left on the board and the position the patriots were taking. "Not if you're planning an ambush it isn't. Get me runners now!" he snaps at the junior officers standing round.

"You think they're going after Monroe?" Blanchard asks.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." Miles replies gesturing at the table. "They were distracting us to get to Bass."

Maneuvering pieces on the board, Miles instructs the runners which units to send where, hoping it isn't too late.

* * *

Charlie comes to on a cot in the med tent, her throat and chest on fire. She manages to flag down a passing medic as she struggles to sit up.

"Captain! You need to lay down!"

"No, what I need is to find General Matheson. Get this thing out of me and find me some clothes."

"Yes, Ma'am," the medic responds with a sigh as he begins to remove the needle from her arm.

Minutes later she's on her feet, making her way to the command tent where she knows Miles will be.

* * *

"Charlie! What the hell?" Miles bellows as he catches her swaying form round the waist.

"What's happening? Show me the board." She demands.

"No, you need to sit down before you fall on your ass."

Pulling away from him, she shuffles towards the table.

"Idiot," he grumbles wrapping his arm around her waist, mindful of her injuries.

Her eyes dart around the table as she quickly comes to the same conclusion that Miles has. "We were set up. There's a mole in camp." She states lifting her eyes.

Miles nods in response.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks as she pulls out of his arms.

"We lost him once. It's not happening again." She replies stoned face.

"Get our bags. I'll get the horses."

She nods, striding from the tent, a heft of one shoulder the only indication that she's in pain.

Miles scratches out a note for Blanchard and they're gone.

* * *

The days blend together as they interrogate every Patriot soldier they're able to capture.

"Where's Sebastian Monroe? Are he and his son Connor Bennett still alive?"

No one knows anything and it always ends with the neat snap of a neck or the slash of a blade, drawn out to the point of torture, depending on who's doing the interrogating.

After a week with nothing to show for it, Miles forces her back to camp. Her wound is showing signs of infection and he'll be damned if he loses her too.

Upon their arrival, they're herded to Blanchard's tent who reads them the riot act for a good half hour before he reaches down and throws a few items on his desk, stating that they were found on the battle field after the patriots cleared out.

On his desk lies Bass' leather jacket and several rings that Connor was fond of wearing.

Jutting her chin out, Charlie stalks forward, scooping the items up. "I'll be in the med tent," she says quietly.

Miles watches her go, his heart breaking for both of them.

* * *

Her wound is in fact infected and she's ensconced in a corner by request while the cut is cleaned, treated and wrapped. She's helped into a clean shirt and hooked up to an iv full of antibiotics.

She's alone when she finally breaks down, clutching his coat to her chest as she openly sobs behind her partition.

When Miles checks on her later, he finds her asleep, eyes rimmed in red and black and wonders how in the hell he missed it and if Bass felt the same way.

He's gone when she wakes and the medics release her back to active duty.

She avoids him, getting orders from runners until she receives a missive from Blanchard himself telling her to suck it up and deal with it.

Creeping into Miles tent that night, she finds him awake, drowning in a bottle of whiskey. No words are exchanged because there's no need for them when their eyes say everything that they can't speak aloud. She crawls up on his double cot, resting her head on his chest as her hands fist in his shirt. He strokes her hair as she cries.

* * *

Three weeks after their reign of blood and terror, they're both trying to pull themselves together. Her stitches have been out for a few days and she can't help but run her fingers over the puckered skin. Even Miles has gently run his thumb over the exposed section, late at night, well into a bottle, his eyes mourning what they lost that day.

They've begun sleeping in separate beds again unless the nightmares that have plagued her since their return wake her, leaving her shaking and wet faced, hanging on to him like the lifeline that he is.

When he wakes alone, he considers it a win for her.

Exiting his tent, determined to get some food into both them, his footsteps falter when he sees Connor standing in front of the command tent talking to Blanchard.

Connor smiles cockily, just like his father, his face battered and bruised, one arm in a sling, leaving Miles breathless. He can't decide if he wants to move forward in welcome or sink to his knees as the face he wants to see is nowhere in sight.

As if he's reading his mind, Connor shifts and Miles is staggering backwards as shaggy blond curls appear beside the dark ones.

Miles swears that the skies part as the sun shines down upon Bass' golden head and he does, in fact, sink to his knees.

Someone shouts when they think his heart has stopped, when in fact it's finally started, calling for Charlie who wades through the swarm of soldiers dropping to her knees next to him. All he can do is look at her and then guide her with his eyes towards the sun.

Her eyes follow his and suddenly the world explodes into sounds and colors leaving her breathless.

"Bass?" she rasps out struggling to get to her feet as she and Miles untangle their limbs, standing as one.

The crowd parts, watching this reunion between the twice-resurrected and his family.

"Bass?" she asks again, this time a sob catching in her throat. He's handed his horse off to a nearby soldier and is quickly striding in their direction, his strong legs closing the distance between them, catching her as she throws herself in his arms.

"You came back, you came back," She chants against the skin of his neck as he slowly brings his arms up to embrace her.

"Always." He whispers next to her ear.

Breaking away with a teary smile, she steps aside allowing he and Miles to embrace, slapping each other soundly on the back.

She turns to Connor with a smile. "It's good to see you, Junior."

"You too, Mini-Miles," he replies warmly as he lifts her chin up inspecting her scar.

"I've always heard that chicks dig scars."

"Don't care about the chicks," she says glancing back over at Bass.

"Pretty sure my dad will too, as long as the person attached to them is still breathing."

Smirking Connor grabs her round the shoulders with his good arm. "Anything to eat around here? We're hungry, and have you ever heard him when he's hungry?" He asks her pointing at Bass. "He will not shut the fuck up about it," he says as the crowd begins to disperse and the juniors follow the seniors to the mess tent.

Her skin burns with every brush of his eyes. He wants to know how it happened, when it happened and why it happened but knows this is not the time nor place.

She and Miles go about their daily duties promising to meet back up in the evening as Bass pushes Connor towards the med tent.

* * *

Its dinner time before Bass is able to seek out Miles. While they eat, Bass explains how he realized it was an ambush, grabbing Connor and as many men as he could, heading in the opposite direction as they made their escape. Caring for the injured and constantly crossing their own paths to throw off anyone following them had slowed them down.

When he finally gets the nerve to ask where Charlie is, Miles eyes skitter away as his tongue pokes out to tap his lips.

"If she's not in her tent, she'll probably be in mine." He says cryptic as fuck.

They leave the mess tent and trudge to their temporary homes. Charlie's tent is dark and empty and while it's obvious she's been in Miles tent recently, she's now gone.

"It's been hard, Bass." Miles explains. "On both of us. She'll come to you when she's ready."

* * *

Monroe's tent is like Blanchard's in that it has curtained partitions dividing a small living area from two sleeping areas since he shares the tent with his son, yet, he knows for a fact that Connor won't be home tonight. His admirers, male and female alike, had made themselves known as soon as they had left the mess tent earlier that day, so the question is, who is in his tent.

Ducking through the flaps and then tying them shut, there's just enough light filtering through the canvas for him to know that the living area is spotless. Someone, probably Charlie, had picked up in their absence.

Tugging off his boots leaving them near the door, his jacket is next, left hanging from a camp chair. Pulling out the handgun that's been snuggly resting against his back, he uses the muzzle to part the canvas partition.

"It's just me, Bass," Charlie says pushing to her elbows on his bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of gray cotton panties and the leather jacket he thought he'd lost until he saw her wearing it earlier.

Clicking the safety on, he gently lays the gun down on the small table holding the lamp as she curls her knees under her, pushing up to a sitting position.

Approaching her slowly, he comes to a stop directly in front of her.

Reaching out, Charlie grasps his shirt to pull him closer as she lets her forehead rest on his chest, her hands at his waist.

Bass' eyes flutter shut of their own accord before he finds himself threading his hands through her hair.

Pulling back to gaze up at him, she slides the jacket down her arms exposing herself to him.

Never taking his eyes away from hers, he tugs his shirt up over his head tossing it aside.

With one hand, he curves his thumb around her chin lifting her head as the other hand traces the still angry scar across her body. She's trembling by the time his fingers graze across her breast, brushing tenderly against her arm.

"How?" he asks almost reverently, cupping both breasts as he thumbs her nipples.

"Does it matter?" she replies popping the button on his pants, sliding the zipper down.

"No," he rasps out as he brushes his lips over hers, pushing her back on the bed.

* * *

Hours later she wakes with a scream, Miles name on her lips, scrambling off the bed, wild-eyed and disoriented. Bass slips his pants on, promising to bring him to her.

Upon their return, they find her wedged in a corner, arms wrapped around her legs.

"Charlie?" Miles calls out softly, running his large hand over her bare shoulder.

Shuddering, even as her chest heaves, she turns to him, her eyes beginning to focus again. "Miles?"

"Come'er. Let's get you into bed."

He guides her towards Bass' bed, pulling her with him across its surface, as Bass stands watching the scene play out in front of him like a bystander who's witnessed a truly horrific car crash.

"Miles, it was Bass." She gasps into the dark, her voice breaking.

Not knowing what's going on, but knowing he can't just stand back and watch, Bass climbs in bed with them curling his body around Charlie as he dot's kisses on her back. "It's me, Charlie," he says near her ear. "I'm here. Flesh and blood and I love you.

His heart breaks when she sobs and Miles turns her in his arms to face Bass, who strokes her cheeks, placing a tiny kiss on her nose. "He's really here, Charlie." Miles whispers into the darkness, his hand gripping her hip like a lifeline.

Reaching up to cup Bass' cheek with her hand, she sighs just before he covers her mouth with his own, regardless of who else is in bed with them.

When she wakes the next morning, Bass is still there propped up on an elbow watching her.

"Hi." He says, combing her hair away from her face.

"I'm sorry about last night."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Charlie." He assures her as he pulls her into his arms.

Within a week, the entire camp is abuzz with their living situation. Charlie and Miles have moved in with Bass and Connor, exchanging Connors smaller bed for Miles larger one so that there's plenty of room for everyone. However, half the time, Charlie's night terrors find her sharing a bed with both Bass and Miles. No one says it out loud, but from the looks that Bass and Miles exchange when they think she's not looking, Charlie's pretty sure she's losing her mind.

* * *

She waits for a day when the men in her life are elsewhere and marches into Blanchard's office, resignation in hand.

He doesn't try to talk her out of it, simply hands over her separation pay and a handful of medals before pulling her into an affectionate embrace, sending her on her way with a kiss to the forehead.

She has her few belongings quickly packed and with one last look around the tent, quietly says goodbye as she weaves through the camp headed towards where the horses are kept.

Rounding the corner, she runs smack into Bass chest where he's waiting with Miles, Connor, several horses and a wagon full of supplies.

Connor snickers from his seat next to Miles on the wagon until Miles smacks the back of his head.

"What are you doing? What's going on?" she asks looking between the three men.

"We're waiting on you, Charlie. It's time to leave." Miles answers with the hint of a smile. "Texas has started mopping up the Patriots and, really, at this point we're just here for moral support."

"So where to, Charlotte?" Bass questions pulling her close. "Anywhere you want to go, just tell us."

"Why are you doing this?" she asks, her eyes glittering in the bright Texas sun.

"Because I love you. I always have." Bass says softly.

"We're family, Charlie." Miles calls out from his perch. "Isn't that what you told me in Chicago? So, it's up to you. Where's this family headed?"

"Someplace no one's ever heard the names Matheson or Monroe." Charlie answers mounting her horse.

"So North-West," Miles muses out-loud as Bass mounts up.

"It really doesn't matter as long as we're together." Connor chimes in, snatching the reins from Miles hands, snapping the horses into motion.

* * *

They end up in what was once Western Washington, in a large home that's a short walk to the beach and close enough to the nearest town that what supplies they do need are easily attainable.

The forest has reclaimed much of the area over the last two decades making Charlie feel as though she has the best of all worlds combined.

The beach is as just as lovely during the summer as it is frightening during the winter when storms blow their way on to shore.

She can hunt in the forest or merely enjoy its blessed silence where there are no sounds of battles or screaming men.

Nature offers her the very best of itself and she basks in its gentleness.

* * *

Her first child is born in the depths of winter. As Miles drinks and Bass freaks out, Connor helps her deliver a baby boy, as blue of eye and fair of hair as his mother.

Bass bathes the child as Miles watches with a delighted grin, while Connor sees his task through to the end.

Snuggly tucked back into her warm, clean bed, she cries for joy as she holds her son and the men join her on the large bed, boasting how they all knew it was a boy, bouncing around baby names until her tears are dry and her eyes are refusing to stay open.

Miles takes the baby from her gently, the child almost swallowed by his large hands as Bass slides her down into the brick warmed sheets, smoothing her hair back and kissing her temple.

"We love you and we'll be here when you wake," she hears someone murmur near her ear as she drifts away, safe in the arms of her family.

~fin~


End file.
